Moonlight Stay
by kittykatloren
Summary: He can't tell if she listened to him or not when she falls into his arms again. But either way, Numair knows that he does not have much time to get her to safety, to a bed, to rest. Daine/Numair oneshot.


A simple Numair-angst oneshot, just something to pass the time. Enjoy, and please leave a review! I hope this is even vaguely realistic...

**Words: **1179  
**Characters:** Daine, Numair  
**Time: **Anytime before _Realm of the Gods_  
**Genre:** Angst

**Disclaimer: **Everything you recognize belongs to Tamora Pierce. Not me.

* * *

Nighttime sets in quickly, a cold moon rising in the sky along with distant, glittering stars. Cloudless and clear, the night is both a blessing and a curse, for it aids vision but also takes away much of the protection usually provided by darkness. Numair struggles with Cloud's reins, praying that the pony can bear both his and Daine's weight for just a while longer. It isn't very fair to the aging mare to push her so hard, but Numair doesn't have a choice. Daine has to get to safety, and quickly.

Scenery and forests race by, but the road remains as endless as ever. Gritting his teeth, Numair prays for both Daine and Cloud to hold on. If only they still owned that other horse. If only Daine were awake. Then they would surely be making much faster progress. Cloud would not be nearly so agitated, for one thing. As their surroundings become more and more familiar, Numair aches to go faster and faster, knowing that they must be nearing Tortall, where inns would be safer and more frequent. He can feel only a few things against the bare skin of his hands and face: the slap of cold breezes, Daine's warm body and wild hair, and blood, both his own and his student's. Over the years, he has grown accustomed to many things: cold, as if he were still living on the streets through an icy winter. Daine's gentle warmth, for she almost always allowed him to hold her or help her when she refused anyone else's aid. But the one thing he knows he will never get used to is seeing and feeling her blood. He doesn't care if it's his own. But her? He can never get accustomed to that.

Something appears far off along the road, half-hidden by trees and darkness. A small building, house, and stable – an inn. Just a little bit farther; they have to make it until then.

_Hold on._

Though it may have been only moments, to Numair it seems like a lifetime passes before they finally reach the inn. In the stable, he stumbles disgracefully off of Cloud's back. He turns around and lifts the reins from where he had wrapped them around Daine's waist and pulls her gently off of the exhausted pony, careful not to disturb the loose, makeshift bandages he had pressed against her slashed side and broken arm. Her eyelashes flutter when her feet touch the ground, and she sways into Numair's arms, barely conscious.

"Don't fight, Daine," he says at once, seeing her struggle to awaken. "Don't fight passing out."

He can't tell if she listened to him or not when she falls into his arms again. But either way, Numair knows that he does not have much time to get her to safety, to a bed, to rest. He points Cloud to one of the stable's stalls, promising her a real brushing and a treat later, then picks up Daine and carries her to the inn entrance. No stableboy is there to give them odd glances as they leave, a tall, beaten, and scratched man carrying an unconscious, injured young woman in his arms.

Inside the inn, all is quiet. The barkeep points them to the stairs and holds out his hand, into which Numair wordlessly drops ten copper, enough for two rooms, as was his habit. He stumbles up the stairs until he reaches the first open room off the landing. Immediately setting Daine as carefully as he could upon the ratty bed, Numair takes the extra pillow from the other side of the bed and places it under her head. She shifts again when he moves her.

"Don't open your eyes," he says forcefully. "You need to rest."

"Numair?" she murmurs, the word slurred and soft. Her eyes don't even flutter.

"I'm here."

He moves down to her feet and gently pulls off her riding boots. Setting them quietly on the floor, he rolls her breeches up to her knees to check the bandage on her leg. She twitches when he does, but stills again when he places a little pressure around the injury to check if it is still bleeding too strongly. Then he slides his cloak off her shoulders to check her braced arm. Crimson flowered over the creamy linen of her stained tunic, but it is the same amount of blood as before, and the brace was in the place. Finally – feeling like a wretch of a man, even though he knew the necessity of his actions – Numair lifts her tunic to reveal the dark cut in her side, a sword blow extending from the bottom of her ribs to her hip. The bandage is completely dark and saturated.

Quickly Numair reaches into his bag and brings out fresh rags. He wishes fervently that a healer were nearby – Alanna, Baird, anyone – or that his Gift would suddenly transform and become one of healing rather than one of destroying. Exhausted, Numair knows he could probably perform small magics for once, but he also knows nothing of how to make his Gift aid a person's health. Clean bandages will better serve Daine's wellbeing. Without hesitation, Numair pulls the blood-darkened cloth from her skin and drops it to the floor. She gasps suddenly, her face pinched and pale.

"It's all right," Numair says at once, pushing her sweat-dampened hair off of her forehead. "Sleep, magelet."

For the second time, he doesn't know if she listened, but after another audible breath, she's unconscious again, her chest barely moving with each breath. Numair works quickly, cleaning the wound as best he can before applying a new bandage. Before he can pull her tunic back down, her blood is already soaking through the new bandage in tiny red spots.

But there is nothing more to be done. He wishes he had clean clothes for her, so that she wouldn't have to sleep in dirty, bloody linens that she'd worn for two days now. Turning to clean up, Numair catches sight of the blood-darkened rags he'd left on the floor. He pauses for a brief moment, then pushes out a tiny bit of his Gift. They burst into flames and are gone in mere seconds. He's weak enough that, for once, such a stunt doesn't catch the whole room on fire.

A small hand suddenly catches his wrist, which had been touching the edge of the bed. Ignoring a sudden sting from his own cuts and bruises, Numair turns, seeing Daine half-awake and struggling to focus on him.

"Stay," she whispers. Her eyebrows wrinkle towards her nose and her eyes close tightly. "Please. Stay?"

Numair can't tell if she is truly awake, or murmuring within a dream brought on by fatigue. But it doesn't matter either way. "Of course," he replies, sitting on a bedside stool. "I would never leave, magelet."

She doesn't reply, her face relaxed and titled slightly towards him. Numair kisses her forehead and smoothes back her hair again, ready to wait through the whole night until she wakes.


End file.
